Love and Failure
by grr.cookie.rawr
Summary: X-Men: First Class AU ft. Erik Lehnsherr/Magneto. "We find light in strange places," Charles softly comments. "Reason suggests she should be nearly as vengeful as you, my friend, and yet her faith in mankind rivals mine. I don't think you know how to handle that. I don't think you know whether you love it or despise it."
1. Prologue

_"All of us are trapped in our skins and drowning in gravity. Physics is unforgiving. Nature is predatory. We do not walk through a passive landscape."_ - Richard Siken

* * *

No one's mind is the same. Charles knows this better than anyone. The concept applies tenfold to mutants. With Cerebro, there really was no explaining the range of minds he'd touched, but there was one in particular that stood out. One that was less human than others- jumbled, feral, confused. Hurt. Begging for help in a series of long, mewling, screeches.

Charles staggers away from the machine, panting, hand going to his temple to massage away a headache rather than to communicate.

And that's how they ended up outside of a shabby little house in the middle of nowhere in the Everglades.

"I'd be howling in agony, too, if I had to live in a place this moist," Erik remarks dryly, frowning at the squelching of the ground beneath his shifting feet.

"Now is hardly the time for jokes," Charles rebukes even as a smile tweaks at his lips. He strolls up to the crooked door, knocking furtively.

There's no answer. It's their last stop on the taxing road trip, and Charles had been hoping it would go well. There's no telling what's on the other side of the door- Charles couldn't get a clear read on the mind. It could be dangerous. But whatever it was needed them.

Erik apparently feels the same sentiments, albeit more impatiently, as he extends a hand with the click of a lock and the door swings open.

The first room is dark and musty, worn furniture set up like an afterthought. Lived in, but not frequently. The floorboards creak under their feet, and Charles is half convinced they'll give under their weight. Erik tugs experimentally at the metal on the property, coaxing out a low keen from the far room.

"It's the mutant," Charles confirms. "I can feel it. Curious… Confused… Not afraid. It… Smells us. It's giving us the benefit of the doubt."

The door to the room is heavily secured by a series of locks that don't deter Erik for more than a few seconds. Click, click, click, a small tinkle, and the door flies open anticipatorily.

The first thing Erik notices is her eyes. Golden-green and wide with wonder. Inexplicably pleased.

Charles notices the ears first. Dark- almost black with the slightest tint of red- poking out at an angle from the top of her head. Then the tail, twitching inquisitively.

The fact that she's entirely naked, body slim and dangerously sleek at the same time, and chained excessively (wrists pinned together, arms immobile in the air, a thick collar, her toes barely grazing the floor) to the wall is a secondary observation for both of them.

"Are you here for me?" She asks, voice soft and light in a way that is wholly unexpected considering the bruises and dirt smeared across her bared skin.

"Indeed we are," Charles answers without the slightest clue as to what he should do in the face of such a paradoxical sight. A girl who is literally bright eyed and bushy tailed tied up like a beast? The heavy ring around her neck leaving angry red welts on the very same olive skin that hides strong, toned muscles that are so lax and trusting?

The shackles fall away noisily, startling the girl into a defensive crouch. "How-?"

"We're like you," Erik murmurs. His eyes are practically sparkling at the pleasure of their new discovery- fascinated. "Different."

She bounces on her toes, clearly undeterred and unembarrassed at her current state of undress. "Yeah? _Cool_." She's all but squealing, blinding smile splitting her face and cheeks pinkly pleased.

_And what is it that you precisely do?_ Charles projects into her mind, making her fingers twist excitedly at the tip of her tail.

If they had blinked they would have missed the transformation- her face narrowing out into a slivery black snout, nails sharpening into claws, fur sprouting thick and smooth, entire form shrinking until all that's left is a charmingly excited silver fox blinking up at them.

"Fascinating," Charles breathes. "You know that the silver fox gets its appearance through melanism? How wondrous that your mutation itself is mutated. Can you do anything else?"

The creature triples in size, turning into a hulking magnification of a fox that stands level to Erik's hip. The corners of her mouth quirk up proudly.

"Beautiful," Erik remarks, in a way that sounds synonymous with powerful.

"And clever," Charles hums, touching her mind as she shifts back into naked, lean flesh.

She laughs, an easy caressing sound, and stands tall a fraction too-close to Erik. "I've met others before, but none like you two. You are…" Her mind runs through a few phrases that, while nearly making Charles flush, are thought in a clinical, matter-of-fact way. "Fantastic."

"Erik," the German introduces in response, slipping his brown leather jacket off his broad shoulders to thrust it at her exposed form.

The young woman stares at the jacket for a beat, as if confused by its purpose, before begrudgingly slipping it on and zipping it up to a point that's just barely decent. "Sasha."

* * *

This is just a teaser/prologue thing for a story that's been swimming around in my brain. If you happen to be familiar with my other stories, fear not that I have abandoned American Dream. It's still going to be finished, life just came out of nowhere and carted my brain off in a million different directions. Anyway, I'm kind of obsessed with mutants. Even more obsessed with creating my own and inserting them into pre-existing comic book movies. I'm sure you've noticed this much if you're familiar with my work. Drop me some feedback and I'll love you forever.


	2. Backseats and Back Stories

_We dream and dream of being seen as we really are and then finally someone looks at us and sees us truly and we fail to measure up._ - Richard Siken

* * *

She sits restlessly in the back seat, eyes darting between the two of them, Erik's brown leather jacket sliding up her thighs as she moves, bushy tail flicking back and forth.

Charles, without any effort, regretfully picks up her surface thought of _both highly acceptable for mating_, but what she says out loud is merely, "I'm starved. Do you have any food?"

"I'm afraid not," Charles answers with forced politeness, unsettled by the odd organization of her thoughts. Only half are human sentiments. The other is instincts and sounds and strange, bright sensations that he can't bring himself to sort out quite yet. He has faith, however, that in time her mind will become clear to him. He's never met a challenge he couldn't conquer.

Erik doesn't comment until Charles gives him a pointed look from the passenger seat. "We'll stop soon."

Charles ignores Sasha's sudden surge of impure interest for Erik and focuses on the tendril of thought that whispers _it's been days since I've eaten_. The pain heavily laced in the statement pulls Charles in so abruptly that he almost can't control it. He does, of course, regain his composure, but curiosity gets the best of him and he sinks further into her mind.

He sees her at six years old, ears flat against her head, tail tucked between her legs, entire body trembling as she's curled into a tight, inconspicuous ball under her bed. The yellow sundress hangs too large off her too thin frame- a problem attributed to her obscenely high metabolism which she does not master until much later in life.

She listens to the thunk of boots, her father. And the desperate hushed pleas, her mother.

"_She is a monster_," the man booms.

"_You are the monster_," the woman counters. "_**She**_ _is our daughter._"

The backhand she receives is not a warning. It is hard enough to draw blood from her lip and send her sprawling across the floor. Her eyes- wiser, sadder mirrors of her daughter's- stare in defeat into the darkness where Sasha quivers.

Loud footsteps boom closer, until a large hand curls unforgivingly in the mother's hair. He drags her aside until he can crouch in the space she once occupied. His smile- condescending and falsely reassuring. "Come Sasha. Time to go."

"I'll try harder," the young mutant whimpers. Her furred ears slide into her skull, replaced by the delicate shell of fleshy human ears, but her tail stays resolutely put. "It's just when I'm nervous, I can't-"

Ten lines are carved into the wooden floor as the man drags his own daughter out by the ankle, claws burgeoning at her fingertips in a last ditch effort to cling to her safety. She's manhandled into a cramped cage, and then shoved in the back of a truck, the doors swinging shut to leave the darkness to devour her.

The next memory Charles slips into must occur just hours later- the edges of the vision tinged with the same panic, the same small child in the same ill-fitting outfit. But a different man knelt in front of her now, with an expression that Charles can feel the poor girl did not understand at the time, but knows now makes her physically ill.

"What a pretty little girl," he coos, fingers dancing across her shoulder where the thin strap has slid down. "So different. Exciting."

Despite her naïveté, her instincts had kicked in. Had made her growl in the back of her throat and flail gracelessly as a small pup lost in what seemed like yards of yellow fabric. The man picked her up by the scruff of her neck, laughing as her paws beat at him.

"I can wait."

Charles watches, rapt, as Sasha discovers for the first time that she is more than just human and animal. She is mutant. And as she grows to the size of an underfed collie, the man drops her to the floor in a self-preserving fit of fear. Charles feels her mind lose a touch of humanity- something that was terribly hard for her to keep a firm grasp on as a youth- as she bares her teeth and leaps.

Later, the police will knock down the door of the suburban home, called in on account of the neighbors hearing a cacophony of terrified screams. They will find a naked six-year-old in a pool of blood, while a man with half-unzipped pants lies pale and dead on the floor with half his throat missing.

"I'm so very sorry," Charles snaps pulling out of her mind. Erik spares them a curious glance, but continues steadily down the road. "I shouldn't have-"

"I don't mind," Sasha shrugs unashamed. "You're free to look, but you _could_ just ask."

"Why were you locked up?" Erik asks in that way of his that sounds more like a demand than a friendly inquiry. His face remains impassive evens as his hands clench around the steering wheel.

Her heads cocks to the side, considering Erik's stiff posture. "They were afraid."

"You could have gotten away," Erik reasons.

"I did the first time. The second time they chained me up so that if I changed I would have popped my joints out of place."

The car begins to gradually increase speed. "Did you not fight them?"

"Well no," Sasha answers as if the notion is ridiculous. "I thought it better to wait it out. I could have hurt them."

Charles knows that Erik can't help but think she is a foolish girl, but he still feels the chill down his spine from the image of the poor girl sobbing and blotched in red.

"Better them than you."

"Better that it's no one."

And Charles wants to palm his face in frustration when Erik thinks _she will learn_ as she simultaneously echoes _he will learn._

* * *

Through the dirty window of the gas station, Erik watches Sasha sit impatiently in the car. She's slipped into the passenger seat now, and has begun to rifle through the glove compartment as if it is the most interesting thing around.

"She confuses you," Charles startles him, arms full with beef jerky and sweets.

"I'm not sure how she'll be useful to our cause."

Charles bites back the comment _our cause, or yours?_ "Picking her battles does not make her weak. I believe that she could make a great contribution."

"This isn't charity, Charles. We cannot measure our recruits by their magnanimity."

"And we cannot measure them by their anger, either, my friend." Charles follows Erik's gaze out the window where Sasha is now sniffing a collection of air fresheners. "She is less human than many of us. She understands what survival takes, even if she is not vengeful."

Sasha pushes up onto her knees in the seat and the two of them get an eyeful of her upper thighs.

"We'll need to get her some clothes," Erik mutters.

"Heavens yes."

Erik steps away from the window, taking half of Charles load while shooting him a teasing smile. "She's very fond of you already."

"Hush," he grumbles. "She's very fond of both of us. Rather lasciviously."

Throwing a wad of cash onto the counter as the overly bored teenager rings them up, Erik arches a brow. "Interesting."

"I hardly think we have the time for _interesting_."

"Really?" Erik drawls, holding the door open for the shorter man. "I was under the impression you always had time."

Charles rolls his eyes and fumbles with the plastic bags. "The circumstances are quite different now, and- Sasha's gone."

"What?"

"She's gone from the car," Charles reiterates in a misleadingly calm tone.

Erik, just as misleadingly sensible, replies with, "She can't have gone far."

"Right, we'll just ask around and see if anyone has spotted a nearly naked woman with fox ears and a tail."

"Yes, now is the time to be snide-"

Charles holds up a hand to silence Erik, assaulted by the very pointed tail end of the thought _like an old married couple_.

"I imagine you'd sound like my parents, if I had any." Her grin does nothing to disarm Erik's tension.

"You can't just run off like that," the German barks, opening the door to the backseat and gesturing impatiently.

Sasha sends him a curious look, eyes shining with mirth. "I didn't run. I sauntered." The light in her expression dims somewhat at Erik's lack of amusement, mellowing out into something more serious. "It's just that it's a beautiful day out, and I haven't been outside in a very long time. They'd even boarded the windows up. I've missed the sun."

Erik didn't look particularly contrite, but Charles could feel the small pinch of empathy emanating from the man next to him. So often Erik liked to focus on the injustices, rather than the victims.

"Well, perhaps warn us next time. And wait 'til you're dressed."

Sasha slips back into the car, her ears wiggling playfully. "I haven't worn clothes in years."

Charles laughed to himself and the loud projection of _Terrible distraction. More trouble than she's worth._

* * *

_Yeah, her back story is increasingly depressing, so I tried to balance it out with light-hearted stuffs. Thanks to anyone who's read this! The continuation of this story pretty much depends on the kind of response I get, so if you like it, let a girl know!_


	3. Vixen

_This is the place, you say to yourself, where everything starts to begin, the wounds reveal a thicker skin and suddenly there is no floor._ - Richard Siken

* * *

Erik's eyes track Sasha's every movement while Charles is away at the hotel front desk. She tugs uncomfortably at the hem of her denim shorts, her loose V-neck- Charles' having estimated poorly and bought a size or two too large, something that surely would have offended any woman who hadn't lived in the forest for roughly twenty years- slipping down her shoulder. Her ears and tail were gone, which irritated Erik to no end, though he grudgingly accepted that flaunting her mutation at this particular time and place might slow the progress of their current venture.

For all of his travel and experiences, Erik has seen plenty of women. Plenty of beautiful women. Women that were strong, or brilliant, or passionate. Some that were cold and calculating, like Shaw's telepath. Women that were angry, like him. Many that were broken.

His eyes might linger on the tanned skin of her inner thighs, but that's not what inextricably draws him to her. It's how she is completely and wholly untamed. Everything she does is colored with a shade of honesty that is rare to find among humans. Small things, like her open discomfort in clothes, to the way that she lets Charles completely into her mind in a way that Erik, regrettably, cannot. Despite her naiveté and childish optimism, Erik senses a ruthlessness just waiting to be released.

"Um, Charles," Sasha starts, shuffling over to him and nearly tripping over her new sandals. "I don't mean to be difficult, but could you maybe get two rooms instead of three? I'll sleep on someone's floor, I don't mind, it's just…"

"You're afraid of sleeping alone," Charles supplies. Erik wonders if it's a new fear, bred of chains and being kept in a dark back room, or if it's something she's always faced. "Of course."

Sasha smiles then, and it's such a bright and peaceful emotion that Erik almost forgets why having feelings for her might be a bad idea. But he doesn't.

Outside of the adjacent hotel room doors, they pause in a moment that is awkward for everyone but Sasha. Erik figures to hell with it. Sasha doesn't seem to grasp the concept of embarrassment and Charles isn't going to poke fun at his pride later.

"You can sleep with me," he offers.

_In your room you mean_, Charles projects dryly.

Sasha's furred ears slip out and twitch as Erik continues with, "We wouldn't want Charles to slip into any nightmares you might have, would we?"

_How selfless of you, Erik_.

Flipping open the door without the aid of his key, Erik gestures silently for Sasha to slip in. While Erik sets his small suitcase down on the foot of the bed, she makes herself at home and pads her way directly to the bathroom. The shower starts and Erik pointedly tries not to think about it. And fails.

_Behave_, he hears Charles' teasing voice.

_Keeping my hands to myself doesn't mean keeping my thoughts to myself. I'm not a saint._

Erik feels a tickle of projected amusement, and then, _I fear even saints couldn't resist_.

_So why, pray tell, are you listening in? Voyeurism doesn't suit you, Charles._

_I was merely getting a grasp on the situation. And offering my concerned opinion._

Erik doesn't bother to hide his flare of annoyance. _And would that opinion be that you think I will hurt her?_

_Certainly not. Not physically, anyway. I only feel that you are both in a state of your lives where acting upon any carnal feelings with each other might be unwise._

The door to the bathroom opens and Erik immediately feels Charles slip from his mind. Erik flicks his gaze towards her and is more surprised than he should be that all she's wearing is a towel. He keeps his face blank as he calmly asks, "What are you doing?"

Not calmly enough, apparently, as Sasha's face immediately scrunches up in mild irritation. "Come on, it's bad enough that I had to wear clothes out there, you can't expect me to _sleep_ in them!"

Erik wants to be difficult and manipulative and say something unmovable like, "If you want to stay in my room you'll do as I ask. Otherwise run off to Charles." But he's mostly afraid that she'll call his bluff and actually leave.

"At least the undergarments," Erik compromises wearily.

Placated, Sasha beams and darts back into the bathroom to dress. The metal in the room starts to rattle as Erik questions his sanity.

Afterwards, she stands uncertainly in the doorway, the dim yellow light of the bathroom highlighting her in a way that makes her skin look almost golden. The capitulation of her lacy black bra and panties is nothing but a taunt to Erik. He knows enough from Charles and the way her eyes glaze when she watches him that he could have her if he wanted. And he certainly wants. But he also knows enough that he shouldn't.

Sasha tiptoes unobtrusively towards the center of the room, sliding gracefully down to her knees on the cold floor. She curls in on herself on her side, tail flicking out to wrap around her for warmth.

"What are you doing now?" If Erik's voice is rougher than the last time he asks, Sasha fails to notice.

"Sleeping," and it's almost posed as a question as she raises up on an elbow. "Why? Is there something else I need to do?"

Erik can't quite find the right order for the words he means to say, so instead he slips into bed and folds back the blanket on the empty side. "Here."

He's well aware that, had she gone to Charles room, the man would've taken to the floor for her to have the bed to herself. For as much as they are the same, they are different.

Sasha's eyes go soft as she crawls in beside him, the gesture meaning more to her than it should. "Thank you," she whispers, pulling the blanket up only high enough to rest at her hip.

Erik's fingers itch to touch. Instead he turns his back to her without another word and waits for sleep to come.

* * *

In the morning Erik wakes first to find a pair of strong arms locked around his waist. Sasha's panting warm, sleepy breaths against his back, her forehead resting between his shoulder blades.

Erik extricates himself after only a minute or two, careful not to wake her.

* * *

Erik drags her along by her wrist only so she'll stop waving and smiling pleasantly at the agents that gawk at her as she passes. It grates at him that, even after all she has been through, she does not know to distrust those who see her as a freak.

_Honestly, Erik. A bit of staring doesn't mean-_

_Get out._

Charles notices her wince of pain when Erik does not. He places a hand on her hip and pulls her close to his side, watching as she slips through the other man's fingers.

Erik watches the concern play across Charles features as they trail a few steps ahead of him. He wonders how things will unfold. How things might be different, in the end, when it comes, if she had chosen Charles' room that night. How she might have picked the wrong path at the crossroads.

* * *

Erik watches the boys' eyes flick between Angel, Raven, and Sasha as if they don't know where to rest. As if they are sitting before a feast, starved for days, and have no idea where to begin.

Angel notices the attention, unimpressed and unmoved, used to such a thing. Raven, hidden behind pink skin, silently soaks in their admiration. Sasha remains oblivious.

"Make yourself comfortable," Charles says with all the arrogance of a man who can enter any space and make it his. "Everyone here is like you. Like us."

"I had no idea there were so many," she breathes stepping towards the cluster of children.

"Oh, my friend, there are so many more." Charles gestures for his sister across the room. "Raven, this is Sasha. Could you help her settle in? She's not exactly used to… Social situations."

Erik snorts, remembering the already recycled argument the three of them had that morning, regarding her attire.

"Sure!" Raven looks fascinated by her already, charmed by her physical mutation. "Come on, I'll introduce you to everyone while these old fogies take care of business."

* * *

"We should think of codenames," Raven pipes up from beside Sasha on the couch. "We're government agents now; we should have secret codenames." A few encouraging looks are sent her way before she continues, "I want to be called Mystique."

"Damn! I wanted to be called Mystique!" Everyone laughs lightly at Sean, even the aloof looking Alex.

Raven shifts, like she's barely concealing her excitement. "Well tough, I called it." And then she ripples blue before turning into an exact copy of Sean, and all Sasha can do is stare in amazement. "And I am _way_ more mysterious than you."

They clap and she shifts back into her peachy-blonde form, and Sasha wants to ask a million and one questions but the rest of them are already moving on.

"Darwin, what about you?"

"Well, uh, Darwin's already a nickname. And you know, it sorta fits. Adapt to survive, and all. Check this out," he says rising to his feet. He struts over to the fish tank, a confident bounce to his step. He dips his head in among the fish, and almost immediately gills spring from the sides of his face.

A round of applause and cheerful hollers follow, but Sasha springs to her feet, eyes sparkling, positively thrilled. "That is... You can adapt to _anything_?"

"Well, I haven't really put myself in so many situations," Darwin shrugs. "But probably."

"How about you, Baby Doll?" Angel asks from where she's sitting cross-legged on the opposite couch. "You some sort of kitten?"

"I'm a fox."

Sean laughs in to his drink, "_Yeah_ you are."

"Idiot," Alex scoffs before turning to Sasha. "Can we see?"

Her shirt is shucked and her pants are at her ankles, but it isn't until she reaches for the clasp on her bra that Raven, of all people, reaches a hand out to stop her. Which is just as well, because Hank looks five seconds away from having a heart attack. "Maybe later?"

"We should call you Vixen," Angel drawls in amusement. Sasha is pleased with this even before all of the others chime in with their approval.

"What about you, Sean?"

Later, after they've all showed off and they're working on destroying the room they've been sequestered in, Sasha pulls Raven aside. "When you change you flicker blue for a fraction of a second. Why?"

Raven's soft cheeks flush under her innocently curious gaze. "That's just… What I am. I'm blue. When I'm not changing, I'm blue."

"Why aren't you blue now?"

And Raven almost wants to get irritated at the way this woman clearly doesn't understand what living in the real world is like, the way her ears unintentionally mock her. She doesn't get mad at her, though, because there's something in her golden-green eyes that's sad. Sad on behalf of Raven, and Raven wants to understand _that_.

"It would scare humans. It makes other _mutants_ feel uncomfortable. Cute ears and a tail are one thing, but if you're blue, well…"

Sasha's brow furrows and she lets out a solemn sigh. "Why does their comfort matter more than yours? That skin must feel like… Well, like clothes feel on me. Like you can't stop thinking about it- it's just this constant weight, all itchy and too tight."

"Exactly," Raven smiles, and she can't explain her utter elation at someone finally _getting it_. It's something entirely different than Erik telling her she's fine the way she is, because he'll never really know what it's like. But Sasha does.

The innocence melts away from Sasha's face to morph into a wicked smile. "I won't tell if you won't."

Raven cackles and drops her illusion, as Sasha ignores the stares from behind them and strips back down to her underwear.

"_What_ are you doing?!"

The seven of them freeze, Hank falling from the light fixture. Raven almost reflexively slips back into her blonde shell, but spares an uncertain glance at Sasha, who stands proud even half-naked.

Moira continues to stare disapprovingly, hands on her hips. "Who destroyed the statue?"

"It was Alex," Hank caves quickly, sending a wave of snickers through the others.

"No," Raven interjects. "Havok. We have to call him Havok, that's his name now. And we were thinking…" She points first to Charles, "You should be Professor X," then to Erik, "and you should be Magneto."

The response from Moira, Erik, and Charles is less than pleased. Charles looks severely disappointed, in fact. And Erik just looks vaguely mocking, and almost resigned.

"Exceptional," the German mutters, stalking off, with Moira not far behind.

If possible, Charles' frown deepens further. "I expected more from you." And he follows like he can't bear looking at them.

The rest fall silent, until Sasha raises her chin in determination. "I'll talk to them."

"It won't help," Raven mutters, shifting into her disguise. "We have a million conversations like this, and Charles never listens. And Erik will just stare at you with murder eyes."

"Erik can stare all he likes- I'll know I have his attention. And maybe Charles will listen to me because I'm _not_ his sister. But whether they listen or not, I'll still talk at them, because I don't care what they think of me." It's not said aggressively, just matter-of-fact, and it's this that gives Raven a tiny spark of hope that Sasha might get through to them.

The cold grass crunches between her toes as she runs after them, quicker by far, making it easy to catch up.

"Now's not the time," Charles says, feeling her presence close by. "Please get your clothes."

"No," Sasha defies plainly, making the three of them pause and turn. "I appreciate you saving me, Charles. I do. Honestly. You're amazing and you do amazing things, but I don't have to be here. None of them do. Yes, you've taken most of them out of unpleasant situations like mine, but they do have a choice. And the fact that they've chosen this deserves some respect."

"They deserve only as much respect as they give," Erik counters with a curl of his lip.

Sasha gives him a smile that holds no actual joy. "They- _we_- didn't mean anything disrespectfully, Erik. We were experiencing what it was like, for the first time, to belong. Shouldn't we be allowed a little happiness before we put our lives on the line?"

"There's a time and a place for that," Charles answers tiredly.

"Yes," she agrees, and Erik would have thought she was playing them with those wide, sweet eyes and fluttering lashes if emotional manipulation was something common in the wild. "But when is that time, Charles? You can't really know, can you? Life will sneak up on you. I think we all know that."

Erik rolls his eyes and storms off, throwing over his shoulder, "You're a fool."

"He doesn't mean that," Charles lies through his teeth.

Sasha huffs out a laugh, unoffended in the face of it. "I don't have to be a telepath to know that he does. You can go after him, Charles. I can tell you're itching to talk to him. Just think about what I said, and maybe give them a break."

He nods shortly, spinning on his heel and disappearing into the shadows.

Moira stays behind, meeting Sasha's eyes squarely. "I get where you're coming from," she says reassuringly. "You just have to understand that we're worried. If they're not ready there could be serious consequences for everyone."

"We'll be ready," Sasha replies firmly, but not unkindly.

"I believe it," Moira smirks. "Don't prove me wrong." She starts to go, but then turns back at the last second, leaning in to speak quietly. "And don't stop standing up to those two. They'll need it, sometimes."


End file.
